


Hate Wanting You

by SierraBravo



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Handcuffs, Hate Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, for martin it's just regular sex, well for jessica it's hate sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:09:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23323720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SierraBravo/pseuds/SierraBravo
Summary: Martin Whitly, famed serial killer, is delighted when his estranged wife pays him an unexpected visit
Relationships: Jessica Whitly/Martin Whitly
Comments: 8
Kudos: 68





	Hate Wanting You

Martin Whitly was not expecting any visitors. Malcolm had been by for his latest lovely, if mandatory, visit only two days previously, and so Martin was resigned to not see any of his family for a little while yet. Well, possibly with the exception of Ainsley. He did so love to watch her at work, such a talented reporter. It was a blessing that at least one of his children had the good sense to be on TV so he could have some semblance of a relationship with her, even if it was rather one sided. She did seem quite intrigued by the father she had been too young to remember, even if she had seemed embarrassed to talk to him on live TV. Oh well, that was the thing when your children got older, wasn’t it? They always became a bit embarrassed by their parents.

He was reading a medical journal, though nothing was really holding his attention. The studies were limited in scope, and the writing was, frankly, uninspired. He was just struggling to understand what the exceptionally vague mission statement of this study on improvements in an incredibly specific field of neurosurgery even was, when the door to his cell opened.

“You have a visitor,” the guard informed him, as Martin got up, hands held out to accept the handcuffs.

“At this time of night? It’s past eight. Is it Malcolm? Some new case he needs my help with? Oh, I do hope so, I need something more stimulating than the drivel this journal has sunk to publishing.”

The guard narrowed his eyes, something like well disguised disgust in his expression, just a hint of a downturned mouth. Judgey.

“No,” he said, unhelpfully and seemingly entirely unwilling to elaborate.

Martin was left, cuffed and harmless, to wait for a few moments, before- oh.

“Jessica!” he exclaimed, a delighted grin on his face, “how lovely to see you.”

She looked stunning. She always did, of course, his lovely wife. It didn’t look like she was dressed up for him, at least no more than she usually was. She wore a flowy, patterned blouse, a black pencil skirt and what had to be a least a few thousand dollars worth of jewellery. No pieces he had gotten her, he noted, with the slightest twinge of disappointment. Still, she was here. She was here.

“My dear, you look absolutely radiant.”

She scowled at him, but did not insult him in return, which he took to mean she thought he looked well, also. It was certainly not something she would hesitate to point out if he didn’t. Jessica was so _mean_ sometimes, and to be perfectly honest he found it quite sexy. It was, of course, even more so back when she also loved him. But Martin was not in a position to demand too much.

“What brings you to my humble cell?” he asked, sitting down at his desk, “need to talk about the kids? I understand single parenthood is challenging, even as they grow up. Not that I wouldn’t love to be there, to be allowed to contribute more, but, well.”

He held up is cuffed hands in demonstration.

“It’s not about the kids.”

It was the first thing she had said to him. She seemed strained, uncertain, as if ready to take a leap she wasn’t entirely sure about. It might have been twenty years, but oh, he still knew how to read her face.

“Oh?”

He had thoughts, naturally, and hopes. What man wouldn’t, with such an unusual late night visit from his estranged wife? He didn’t dare to voice them, though, for fear the act of his saying it aloud might dissuade her.

“Then why do I have the pleasure of your company? Not that you need a reason to see your loving husband, of course, but it has been so long.”

“Shut up, Martin.”

Jessica was beautiful when she was angry. Well, she was always beautiful, but something about the way she looked at him, it _did_ things to him.

“Get on the bed.”

-

“Did you know,” he asked, as she busied herself attaching the link of his handcuffs to some part of the headboard, “that the vaginal barrel not only dilates, but also lengthens by an average of 3-4 cm during the excitement phase of sexual activities?”

She finished with the handcuffs and looked down at him with a withering glare.

“I did,” she told him, “because clearly your pathetic attempts at dirty talk haven’t changed at all in the last twenty years.”

“Ah, well, I haven’t had much cause for developing that particular skill,” he said with a grin, “I’ve been saving myself for you, after all.”

“You’ve been chained to the wall of a prison for twenty years, you mean.”

“Granted, that has been a contributing factor, yes,” he admitted, “but my intentions are the same. You’re the only one for me, my dear.”

She took a deep breath, presumably unable to deal with the rush of dopamine such a declaration of love and devotion gave her.

“Sometimes I wonder why I married you even before I knew what a monster you are,” she told him, stepping back, reaching up under her skirt and pulling off her underwear.

Some day. This was clear progress, a chance to start a road towards repairing their relationship. He wasn’t deluded enough to think she would take him back all that easily, not having stayed away for two decades, but she had come back several times, now, in the span of only a few months, and what was a man to do, if not have some hope?

Jessica crossed her arms, looking at him, then the bed appraisingly. She reached up beyond him to adjust something, and he found himself able to move his hands down. She put a hand on his chest, nudging him down, until he was laying on his back. The angle of his arms was still not optimal, but he could rest his hands against the pillow, which provided some relief. It also provided some idea as to what Jessica’s plan was, and the idea took him further into the excitement phase than he already was. Psychogenic stimulation was a powerful thing.

“My dear Jess, are you-” he asked, but got no further before she covered his mouth with her hand.

“If you don’t stop talking, I’ll change my mind,” she warned.

He pressed an open mouthed kiss to her palm, and she pulled it away. There wasn’t disgust in her face, but something sort of like it. Perhaps she was disgusted with herself for falling back in love with him, which was clearly what was happening here. He supposed he couldn’t blame her, if that were the case. He did, anyway. After all, he was a serial killer, what difference would a little more selfishness make in the grand scheme of things.

She climbed onto the bed, pulling her skirt up quite a bit to allow for some more mobility.

“Oh, I’ve missed this,” he said, and was rewarded with a glare, and Jessica positioning her knees either side of his head.

He could smell her sex, now, so tantalisingly close to his face. It was everything he remembered, more, the sensation heightened by decades of deprivation.

“Fun fact,” he began, eyes drawn to where the fabric was on the edge of exposing her to him, “the sex flush, which is the slight redness of skin during the plateau phase of sex, spreading from your chest outwards, is technically a kind of rash. A maculopapular type of erythematous rash, to be specific. I won’t have the pleasure of seeing it, however, as you seem quite set on staying mostly clothed. A pity, really.”

“You really won’t shut up unless I make you, will you?” Jessica asked, her voice low, and tinged with just a slight hint of fondness alongside the clear note of irritation.

“Mmf,” Martin responded, as she settled over his face.

Oh, he’d missed the taste of her. She was wet already, he felt, when he licked a long stripe up where she was opening up for him. He tilted his head up a little, so he could press a closed mouthed kiss to her clit, feeling the way her thighs tensed. He licked at it, carefully, moving his tongue slide against the clitoral shaft, in just the way she liked.

“More,” she demanded, when he stilled for a moment too long.

She used to say please, used to beg him for it, back in the old days. He doubted she would beg now. But that didn’t matter, he was more than happy to provide, ecstatic, excited, as the tightness of his pants proved.

He sucked her clit into his mouth, hearing her moan, feeling her fingers sink into his curls. Well, that was an excellent sign. He released her clit, blowing a puff of air against spit wet flesh, the moved downward again, teasing open lips until he could sink his tongue into her. Sharp, perfectly manicured nails dug into his scalp in the best way, thighs pressing against the sides of his head. Her wetness was seeping into his beard, and he could feel it against his cheeks, his chin. Delicious. Messy. Perfect.

It took a little longer, now, bringing her to her climax, fucking into her as deep as he could with his tongue, making sure her clit was never neglected. He was a little out of practise, after all, and after all this time, who could blame him. Well, Jessica could, but not now, not when her walls clenched around his tongue, her entire body shuddering as she came.

She didn’t move for a few moments, her breathing heavy as she came down from the high of orgasm, just a little. He wanted to ask her, teasingly, whether he’d still got it, but she remained sitting on his face, and so that was out of the question for the moment.

A few moments later she moved, cold air against her wetness on his face. She lifted off him, shuffling backwards, just barely grazing his erection, and that alone had him repressing a moan.

“Sit up,” she demanded, and he struggled to wriggle into more of a sitting position.

He couldn’t really feel his arms anymore, but that was fine, it didn’t seem like he would need them for this next part either. But oh, he longed to touch her. To run his fingers through her soft, silky hair, to cup her face in his hands and kiss her, deeply. He wanted his fingers inside her, able to get her off while kissing her. Wanted to slide the expensive, elegant fabrics off her so he could see the expanse of smooth skin. He needed to feel her perfect breasts, to touch her nipples in just the right way, fingernails scraping over the sensitive nubs.

She sat to the side of him, tugging at the hem of his pants, then his boxers, sliding both down to his mid thighs, his cock springing free. He was so very hard, the flesh reddened, straining. She scraped a nail along the length of him and oh dear god.

“Please,” he said, because while she might not sink to begging, he had no such qualms.

Perfect, dark red lips pulled up at on corner. She waited a few seconds, seeming to consider, but then her knees were either side of him, and a hand guiding him gently into her. It had been two decades, and Martin was very slightly worried he might come immediately, but Jessica, clearly not wanting that either, gave him a few moments to gather himself.

She was so hot, wet and slick and tight around him. She was perfect. She was everything. His hips stuttered in short movements, as much as he could manage, given their position. It seemed like years before she started to move, rising until only the head of his cock remained inside her, then sinking down, fast.

She rested her hands on his chest, supporting herself as she rode him, and he got to look up at her face, all the while. Well, most of the time, anyway. Her blouse was quite open, and though not immodest, gave him a nice view of her chest. His memory was perfectly capable of filling in the rest.

He thrust up into her, as much as he could manage, meeting her movements, trying to angle himself to hit her g-spot, though he knew the angle of the standard penis was suboptimal for this. It felt so very good, though, so very right to finally be inside her again. He wished for free hands so he could reach down to stimulate her clit, but moments later one of her hands moved away from his chest, down to provide that particular service herself. He was torn between watching that and watching her face, the slight strain, her brow furrowed with concentration. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly parted. He longed to kiss her.

It was a challenge, keeping himself from coming before she did. He wanted to be in the moment, of course, wanted to etch every part of this experience into his memory forever, but even more he wanted to not disappoint her, and so he tried to prolong the experience by attempting to remember the statistics in the study he had been reading before she arrived.

When Jessica came for the second time that evening, it felt like it took less than a second before he followed, his self control failing the moment she contracted, pulsed around him. He moaned her name as he spilled into her, wanting so badly to hold her close to him as he did so.

She moved off him far too soon, he thought, as the cold air hit sensitive flesh. She leaned, hand planted on his chest again as she manoeuvred off the bed. He had missed her hands on him. Missed everything about her. Neither of them spoke as she located and put on her underwear, or as she loosened his cuffs from their fastening. He was afraid anything he might say would ruin the moment. If this was the only moment he got like this again, he didn’t, for once in his life, want to spoil it with some flippant comment, some clever joke.

He rubbed his blood back into proper circulation while she gathered her things, wincing at the pinpricks in his arms. Pulled his pants up with fingers that could only feel what seemed like fuzzy electricity.

Jessica looked at him as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, as if getting ready to follow her, as if he could.

“If you tell anyone about this I will kill you,” she said, her voice flat and devoid of its usual bite.

“Oh? You didn’t manage to go through with it last time, dear, what’s to make me believe you’ll get it on the second try?”

She looked away.

“I won’t come back.”

She turned to the door, opening it, ready to leave without another word.

“I love you, Jessica.”

She looked back at him, her face a mask of disgust and betrayal and grief.

“It’s a few decades too late for that,” she snapped, and then she was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing this while studying for my exam in sexology, hence all Martin's fun facts, which makes this count as studying technically. Source is (of course, what else?) Masters, W. H. & Johnson, V. E. (1966)  
> Anyway I am super into both Martin and Jessica. Frankly, bi for that entire family, they are all extremely hot. Also Dani.


End file.
